


Claiming

by Fierceawakening



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M, Spark Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 13:46:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierceawakening/pseuds/Fierceawakening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The city of Vos has always stood alone, aloof from the conflicts razing the rest of Cybertron. Megatron visits Starscream, ostensibly to negotiate a deal for some weaponry Starscream and other scientists have developed. Little does Starscream realize that Megatron wants not just the weapons, but the Seekers themselves as his air force. Or that he wants one, in particular, more than the others...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was co-written with Meaisin Caoin.

Vos was entirely too fragile.

The high towers were beautiful, their many lights shining to rival the stars. The visitor might have admired it, back at the height of its glory. During the Age of Empires, it would have been pretty for a reason: a jewel in the crown of the great Cybertronian Empire, less sturdy than the high walls that protected its capital and less obviously dangerous than the weapons of its armies.

That was forgivable. Every great empire needed its symbols, frivolous or not.

He chuckled, in spite of himself, as he flew between the high spires. Flying here was a challenge, an exercise in acrobatics, a dance.

That amused him at first, but he quickly found his mood souring as he flipped and spun again and again to avoid colliding with the city's buildings. Although he too could fly as long as he remained transformed, his root mode didn't have wings. He flew because not flying limited where he could go, and he refused to be limited.

The Seekers of Vos, on the other hand, flew because they were creatures of the skies, whatever forms they took. They built their cities to keep out any who were not.

And the further he flew, the closer he came to the heart of the city, where no one who did not belong was ever truly welcome.

His engines roaring angrily, he swerved, considering risking the inevitable damage to his frame just to damage two particularly impertinent structures he could barely fit between. But that would be inexcusably rude, almost as rude as actually shooting at them, and his breach of decorum would surely be noticed. And judging from that near-collision, he was close now anyway.

And although he didn't doubt he'd get what he wanted in the end either way, that would set him back entirely too much, and this whole affair would take entirely too long. He was a pit fighter, the greatest in the arena's history. He was Megatron, the Slag Maker, leader of the revolution that would remake not just this irritating city, but all of Cybertron itself. He would not deign to sit at a negotiating table hissing wheedling apologies until the Seekers finally forgave his transgressions.

His frame vibrated with laughter as he beheld it, the greatest spire of Vos, a spindly claw reaching to rend the heavens. It gleamed, its metal perfectly polished, its lights winking like living gems.

For a moment, he stared. Then, he turned his mind to more practical concerns: where and how to land.

This, too, was supposed to be difficult for anyone who wasn't small and light like the natives of Vos. The landing strip was tiny, too tiny for a flier of his size. He decided his best bet was to transform as he reached the ground and hope he wouldn't crash into the doorway. Besides, he was eager to feel something solid beneath his feet. He could stand not to be graceful now - and besides, even his most elegant, well-choreographed, warrior's movements would seem uncouth next to a sleek, light Seeker anyway.

He swooped downward, shifting form at the last moment, bracing himself to minimize the skidding. Sparks flew as his feet dug into the thin metal. Starscream would not like the damage, but that was his problem. Megatron could have let himself collide with the door; breaking it with his body would, after all, make a clear point about both the gladiator's strength and about his mounting annoyance.

Scowling, he hurried to the door, impatiently glaring at the communications panel as he pressed a claw and activated it.

"Starscream. I am here," he growled. He had planned to say something more, something about the weapons he hoped to purchase, or even the alliance he hoped to propose. But that did not matter; the Seekers' leader already knew why he was here.

And he suspected that drawing things out would only play into the scientist's hands.

So he stood and waited, his lip plates curling into a slight smile as the doors finally opened.

Starscream rose, hands primly behind his back, claws fidgeting. He smiled but there was no welcome in the expression. Vosian custom required an elaborate series of greeting rituals when meeting a foreign dignitary: bowing, the offering of libations, certain turns of phrase. Starscream found the customs archaic and tedious, and ignored them on this occasion. He followed them impeccably in his dealings with others of his kind, well aware of the power hidden in a graceful, precise bow. But this crude visitor was no Seeker and certainly no dignitary either.

He was, however, here with a purpose. Starscream smirked as he glanced back at the weapon prototype on the table behind him. How telling it was that Megatron had traveled here himself, to personally broker the deal. Though Starscream considered other cities' petty politicking beneath him, it was always prudent to be aware of goings-on in the world, especially of those who sought to change it. And so Starscream knew that Megatron almost always sent one of his agents to conduct business on his behalf. Starscream's wings twitched a little; only the glory of the Seekers (of which Starscream considered himself to be the finest example) and their superior technology merited a personal visit.

"How kind of you to grace our humble city with your presence. I hope you didn't have too much difficulty navigating," Starscream said, smirking as his optics wandered lazily over the massive, scarred frame in his doorway.

Megatron allowed himself a long moment to glare at his host. Starscream was small and slight, his wings twitching as he stared at Megatron. For all that, his optics - red like Megatron's own - gleamed. And a red horn rose from the center of his forehead, marking him as Vos's leader. A prince, of sorts, built to rule the great city.

When Sentinel Prime had instituted the caste system across all of Cybertron, all such ranks had technically ceased to exist. But Vos was a law unto itself, and as long as its Seekers had the good sense not to squawk too loudly about how things really worked here, things went on as they always had.

Which meant Starscream saw himself as royalty - and might very well explain his behavior toward his guest.

From what Soundwave had told him about Vosian etiquette, Starscream should have greeted him with a ridiculous formal bow that left him entirely too physically vulnerable. Then he should have given the first of a set of ritual greetings Megatron had spent an evening committing to his memory banks.

Still, Megatron came from the front lines of a revolution. Before that, he'd been the greatest fighter in the gladiator pits, and before that, a nameless worker in an energon mine. Irksome as Starscream's insolence might be, it spared him the irritation of having to dance around for cycles before getting to the point.

His faceplates settled into a smirk. "They say that those unworthy to visit Vos lose themselves in the city, never to find their way out again. If they don't just crash and die. But I am here."

He grinned, advancing toward the table where the prototype lay. "And I am here for a purpose. We can talk about the glories of Vos, if you like. But why bandy words about glory when you and your kind could be helping to seize it?"

He stared at the weapon. It was inert now, heavy and dangerous, even without power. With power, he realized, it would probably burn the optics of whomever looked too closely into it.

Megatron was no Shockwave, and although he had worked diligently to increase his knowledge as his revolution slowly took shape, he would never be a scientist. But looking at it, even he could see it was a marvel, compact and deadly, designed to store - and, eventually, unleash - amounts of energy unheard of for a limb-mounted, personal weapon.

He could see the mounts, elegantly concealed at its base. Seeing them, he felt his own weapons systems heat up and wondered, his smile broadening, just what it would feel like if they were feeding this weapon. His own guns, though they were prized among his gladiators turned revolutionaries, were scrap compared to this.

"So the rumors are true, it would seem," he said, careful to keep too much excitement from creeping into his voice. "Intriguing. But I need weapons for my armies - not just fancy toys."

Starscream shifted to the side, obscuring the weapon from view and forcing Megatron to look at him instead. How amusingly transparent this thug from Kaon was; he feigned indifference with his words, even as his optics shone with greed. For all his gravitas, he seemed unskilled in the arts of negotiation, a fact the Seeker fully intended to capitalize on. He wanted what Megatron had: the influence, the budding power, the credits... Starscream sniffed and stared down his nose, the expression no less arrogant for his diminutive frame.

"Very well then. If our technology isn't good enough for you, feel free to be on your way," he said, lifting a long delicate hand in a dismissive wave. "It will be a simple task for me to make the necessary adjustments to this prototype so it's fully useable by Seekers. No need to waste our efforts on ground-pounders. You can amuse yourself with your little laser rifles, or whatever it is that's considered 'sophisticated' amongst your kind these days."

Megatron let his optics linger on Starscream.

Clearly, the Seeker wanted Megatron to look at him, and he had no problems obliging. Like his prototype, the Seeker was elegant, every line of his small form built for a precise function. He was small, yes, but Megatron had long ago learned that didn't make an opponent any less deadly. Especially someone like a Seeker, built light and aerodynamic and small for flight. They were fast, faster than any other Cybertronian flyers, even others who could fly in both modes.

They were also beautiful. Especially this one, whose wings twitched with obvious nervousness and anticipation. Anyone else would fear a warrior like Megatron, would fight to keep his wings from drooping. If the gladiator got both too angry and too close, he could easily rip those wings off with his bare claws, and then all the vaunted flying skills of the Seekers would mean absolutely nothing.

But Starscream showed no such fear. His wings didn't tremble, and he wasn't fighting to keep them from lowering. They only flickered rapidly with interest, even as he insulted his formidable visitor.

So Megatron stared, too long. Then he laughed. "Is that how you sell your vaunted weapons to every potential buyer, Starscream? 'Go and amuse yourself with laser rifles?' One would think you have no interest in selling this at all."

He reached out, his claw stopping just barely in front of Starscream's wing. "Or am I the problem? Would you rather sell to those who claim to keep order here, those who fight to hold back the tides of Cybertron's future? Or do you plan to stay here, hiding in your aeries, as revolution burns away the stagnation corroding our world?

"You're a scientist, Starscream. But you have to know things to build things. You have the education I have had to scrape together from scraps of legend, from pieced-together transmissions, from data stolen for me by my young friend in the Great Library. You have it, but you did not pay for it."

He drew his hand away, holding it up and curling it slowly, watching in satisfaction as Starscream's optics focused on it and stayed that way. "And if you do, you know that we are kin. I come from Kaon, and you mock me for it - me, and my followers in the Badlands and the cities that ring them. I know why. But I tell you this: if you have seen the histories that I have spent many months piecing together, you know that we were warriors once, not brutes put out to toil. Or to die in the arena ripping one another apart."

He chuckled, watching Starscream's wings twitch faster. "And if you know that, you know that Seekers too were warriors, raining death and destruction from the skies as those like me razed the ground."

He lifted his great arms, the light of the chamber shining on them as he opened his hands. "This is what I offer you, Starscream. I have credits. I have energon. I have every petty thing that you have ever wanted, and I can give all of it to you, and take the weapons that you design and build here, and go back to my little hell and bring the devils out of it, blazing with new fires."

He smirked. "That is good enough, I suppose. For you, and for me. But I also have what you have dreamed.

"Did you think I came only for this cannon, and for a few handfuls of guns to install in a few rebels? No. I came to restore you - and those who follow you - to the destiny that was torn from them. I came to bring you out of your aeries and set you loose on the rusting fools who think they own this world."

So the gladiator had studied his history. Megatron's words were eloquent, tempting even, but Starscream hadn't risen to his current position by being swayed by turns of phrase. Starscream's smirk widened and he made no move to offer Megatron the weapon. Megatron could have easily taken it by force by now. They were indoors and Starscream had little room to fly. Without it, Starscream had no illusion that he'd win in a fight.

No, Megatron clearly wanted more. He wanted soldiers, wanted Starscream himself, if his lingering optics had been any indication. Still, it was always prudent to be on guard. Even though Megatron had withdrawn his hand, Starscream watched it still. It was large enough to wrap around him, lift him like a toy, and break him just as easily. He indulged that thought and realized too late that his wings were fluttering as his plating grew warmer. To distract himself he perched on the edge of the table and crossed his legs, idly drumming his claws on the weapon's barrel.

"You can read, how charming," Starscream drawled, dragging his optics back up to meet Megatron's. "So you don't just want the technology I offer, you want me. The Seekers. You want us to serve you and fight for you and die for you and take your orders."

Of course; Starscream should have realized it earlier. With the air superiority the Seekers offered, Megatron's victory would be assured. With the Iaconian Senate out of the way, Megatron himself would be the sole ruler of Cybertron. He leaned forward and narrowed his optics.

"We are warriors, yes, all of us; great ones. Our flight capabilities make us inherently more dangerous and, I will concede, you are wise to recognize this. But Vos will not bow at your feet simply because you've rehearsed a speech. I will not bow at your feet when all you've offered me is a chance at being another gear in your war machine."

Megatron's engines rumbled as his optics flared an angry red. "Frightened, Starscream? Of fighting and dying? Hah! I came here looking for a prince of the air, worthy to stand at my side as I purge Cybertron of the corruption rusting it from within. And I find only a coward."

He laughed, hearing the Seeker sputter in indignation, and held up a hand for silence. "Come now, Starscream. Don't cringe because I see the truth. You are no pontificating fool from Iacon, pretending to be concerned for potential loss of life. You don't give a damn if Seekers die when war comes here. You know it will, even if Vos professes neutrality. What's bothering you is the thought that they might die for me instead of you."

He moved close to the table, leaning over the Seeker, watching the thin, clawed hand curl around the cannon as if his skinny little digits could protect it.

Lip plates drawn back in an exaggerated, threatening grimace, he met the Seeker's gaze. Starscream, as he had predicted, stared back, frowning in defiance, thinking only to keep Megatron from too easily grabbing at the cannon he so obviously wanted.

He grabbed a wing instead, his claw tightening around it. Starscream squealed in pained surprise and he stopped immediately, easing his grip but not relaxing his hold.

"I could kill you for refusing me. Kill you and take this thing for myself. We both know that." His grip tightened. "Just as you know you're tempting me to do it.

"But if all of Vos truly is united behind you, your Seekers would fall upon me and kill me in retaliation." He grinned. "There are some in my rebellion who believe that nothing can kill me. They are, of course, wrong. That, you also know. You are no fool, blinded by the legend that has grown up around me in the pits."

He licked his lips, his fangs gleaming. "But are these Seekers truly yours? Would they come for you, knowing that my Decepticons would fall upon this city and topple your towers one by one? Or would they decide that killing me is not worth cursing themselves?"

Starscream leaned forward and glared defiantly. The pain in his wing was bright and euphoric. It was intended as a warning no doubt, but Starscream didn't flinch. There was always a risk that Megatron would do more, but Starscream highly doubted he wanted to risk a costly diversion right now. But he might. Starscream pushed his wing against Megatron's hand and shuddered.

"Your Decepticons, hm? You really think that ragtag band of criminals would be so eager to avenge your death? Most of them would probably celebrate and fight over who'd take your place," Starscream snickered. "They'd be fools not to."

He lifted his other hand and scraped his claws over Megatron's chest, leaving long scratches in their wake. Megatron's armor was thick, heavy... but not impenetrable.

"As for my Seekers..." he continued, grinning, "They'd welcome the sport. If target practice could even be called as much."

Megatron twitched. As light and small as Starscream was, those long claws bit deep. He had to admit he was impressed. The scratches the Seeker had left burned, a heat that flared in time with the whirling of Megatron's own spark.

He'd come here knowing he needed the Seekers. He had expected both interest and resistance, and had found both. But he hadn't realized it would be nearly this interesting.

His free hand reached out to grab at Starscream's claw and twisted, bending back the fragile fingers. Starscream screeched again, the smooth, calculating voice gone in a blast of high-pitched noise that stung his audio receptors

"And yet already you do nothing that I don't permit you," he snarled as the whine reached a crescendo and then died.

The wing in his other hand trembled, pressing against his fingers. He laughed again and opened his hand, running his claws lightly along one edge. His grip had left it dented, and he rumbled with pleasure. It was only fitting. Once this Seeker understood the true nature of his destiny, he truly would become prince of the air - but the world itself would not belong to him. Best for him to learn that now, spark-deep, where his lying words could not protest it.

His hands stilled. "You forget: to that rusting fool who calls himself a Prime, we are more alike than different. All of the warrior race are dangerous to him, and he only rises from his sloth to jump in fear at our shadows."

He wrapped his other hand around Starscream's injured one. "Will you flee from that, Starscream, simply because you want to make a show of defying me?

"You say you're not impressed with my speeches. Very well, I will be plain. If you refuse me today, I will not press the point. I will give you the credits and the energon and I will take the weapons - including that thing you think you're protecting. I will leave, and I will fight my revolution, and Vos will be free to pretend the world around it isn't falling apart." He snorted. "Or, if Vos has less pride than I imagine, to cower behind Iacon in disgrace, hoping that we will be so occupied tearing the great city down that we will forget you."

He grinned, showing his fangs. "But sooner or later, the flames of my coming will spread, and they will reach your city, and your towers will topple and fall. And make no mistake, Starscream: whether you care for them or not, whether you wish to protect them or only to hide behind them, no Seeker will be left alive but you."

"And when you are the last one left, I will come for you." He gripped the wing again, tighter, his spark pulsing with heat as he thought of the Seeker's plating under his hands, denting and buckling as he tore it apart, piece by piece.

"Is that the future you want, Starscream? Disgrace and destruction? And in the end, to be forgotten? I have seen the histories. I have seen how easy they are to erase. No one will ever remember your city. No one will ever remember your name. Not even me, if I choose not to."

Starscream shrieked and squirmed as the thin metal of his wing began to rupture under Megatron's unyielding grip. He forced himself to be still, his cries fading into fast, shallow ventilation as Megatron's snarled words rang in his audios: _I will come for you._

He stared at Megatron's huge hand enveloping his own. He didn't waste energy trying to pull away; if Megatron wanted to crush his fingers completely, all he had to do was tighten his fist.

Perhaps Megatron had been expecting him to roll over at the threat to his city. But Starscream already knew that war would come to Vos. His concern was not how to prevent it, but how to choose the winning side.

"I'm flattered," Starscream purred. "Do you court all your new recruits so... enthusiastically?"

He lifted his hand from the weapon, claws slowly rising one by one as if reluctant to relinquish their hold. Watching Megatron's face intently, he skimmed over the deep scratches his other hand had left in Megatron's armor, flexing and prickling, wandering and pressing deeper to create new ones. Megatron could have easily stopped him, could have easily torn his arm off, but he felt oddly secure. If this gladiator would raze a city for the privilege of making him submit, Starscream doubted he'd settle for something as banal and un-theatrical as dismantling him in a meeting room and running like a petty thief.

Megatron's optics widened in genuine surprise. He'd expected Starscream to give in, of course. And from the way he'd been dancing all over the place from the beginning of the interview, he'd clearly hoped to be made to. But to abandon his pretense of resistance so thoroughly, after keeping it up so long?

Megatron threw back his head and laughed.

Then he opened his hand, freeing Starscream's other claw. He reached down to the weapon, wrapping his sharpened fingers around it and holding it possessively.

"Court them, Starscream?" He twisted, pressing his chest against the Seeker's sharpened fingertips, his spark flaring with heat as they widened the wounds they'd left there. It was no real danger to him. Not now. Not anymore.

He lifted his hand, still laughing. "Is that what you were waiting for?"

Snarling, he reached up to grab at Starscream's other wing, his grip tight enough to dent the thin metal.

"I don't know how such things are done in Vos..."

Then, staring directly into Starscream's optics, he pulled , half-tearing them from their joints with a loud creak of metal and a sudden stream of pink, glowing energon.

"...but that really doesn't matter."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron finally makes Starscream see his vision... and gets what he came for.
> 
> (And Acid Storm, arriving afterwards to help put Starscream back together, is very, very confused. And more than a little perturbed.)

Starscream had had a snide retort at the ready, but it was obliterated by a piercing scream as he felt his wing joints begin to separate from his frame. The dull pop of snapping cables deafened him and his optics flashed white. He'd felt pain before many times, but nothing like this. This was something else entirely. It consumed him, destroyed him, and made him whole. It was a transformation. A claiming. He clenched his claws tighter against Megatron's chest, anchoring himself as the blazing agony in his wings flowed into the heat radiating from the gladiator's spark.

Megatron saw Starscream's optics flicker, and quickly lowered his head to one of the twin wounds, sniffing at it. The fuel was far higher quality than anything he'd ever had, even as the lord of the arena. That much, he could tell from the tang of it alone. He pressed his faceplates to the wing, the energon spilling over his mouth, and slowly began to lick.

Megatron was all Starscream could see and hear and smell. And _feel._ Starscream gasped and squirmed at the unexpected sensation against his damaged wing: the warmth of Megatron's ragged intakes, and then the unbearable softness of his mouth dragging across the wound, savoring his energon. His spark felt too hot within his chest, somehow both over-full and incomplete.

"You... brutish oaf...!" he whimpered, and was embarrassed by the sound of his own voice.

The rich, purified fuel sang through Megatron's systems, a bright effervescent trail of energy that raced to his already-spinning spark and fed it. He gasped, licking at it again, murmuring with pleasure at the taste. Then he closed his mouth. It would not do to be giddy now. Cycling air heavily through his intakes, he rubbed his scarred faceplates against the wound.

Despite the danger, it pleased him, this taste and smell racing through him and threatening to overpower him. Perhaps that fuel was just the usual in Vos, or perhaps it was fine energon fit only for their leader to consume. Either way, for Megatron, that taste and smell would always mean this Seeker, this meeting, this conquest.

He let go of one wing and wrapped one hand around Starscream's throat, clutching the small vocalizer tightly. "If you have nothing useful to say, be silent."

Starscream gave a hoarse squawk of alarm as those viselike fingers closed around his fragile neck. The sound died in a burst of static and he reflexively reached up to grasp at Megatron's hand with both of his, clawing ineffectually.

"Much better." Megatron relaxed his hold, keeping his claws pointed inward toward the delicate component in case Starscream felt like continuing his litany of insults.

Then he grinned, running his other hand over the energon-spattered wing joint, smearing the spilled liquid on his fingers. "But I have a better use for your mouth anyway."

He lifted his fingers up to Starscream's mouthplates, his clawtips barely brushing the metal. "Lick."

Starscream opened his mouth for a retort, but he quickly decided discretion was the better part of valor; vocalizers were repairable, but there was no need to sustain unnecessary (and unsightly) damage. Then his optics flickered when he felt those claws grazing his face in a razor caress. He unconsciously leaned into the touch, his sensornet still singing with pain from his wings. He hissed at the command, retorts already springing to life in his processor. But instead he only opened his mouth, giving one of Megatron's fingers an experimental lick. His own fuel was sweet and the highest quality, of course; he would accept no less. A sigh of pleasure slipped from his vents at the taste. And below it he could feel the unevenness of Megatron's armor against the delicate sensors inside his mouth, vorns of pits and scratches and tiny scars. And perhaps even the energon of other mechs, long since dead at Megatron's hand in the arena. Starscream shuddered.

He tilted his head forward, savoring the strain of his neck cables against Megatron's other hand, and licked more thoroughly. He lapped between the massive fingers before taking them into his mouth one at a time and sucking them clean.

Megatron's frame rumbled softly as his fingers sank into Starscream's mouth. It felt good, feeling him there, knowing that Starscream was tasting his life itself on Megatron's fingers. But more than that, he relished the feeling of Starscream opening to him, his spark wheeling hard in his chest as his claws slid deep into the Seeker's mouth.

 _I will have all of you_ , he thought, pulling the last of his fingers free and watching Starscream's optics flicker in relief and indignation. He held up his hand for a brief moment, inspecting the Seeker's handiwork. His spark pulsed hard, its housing in his chest suddenly hot as tendrils of energy lanced out to bury themselves in his chest plates.

Soon, he would open them, and take what he really wanted. He could feel them shifting, the gears holding them shut turning ever so slightly in response to his spark's urgent swirling.

But not yet. The gears ground, too loudly, as he willed them closed, overriding his instincts. He would not expose his spark to anyone who didn't reveal himself first. He certainly wasn't going to display himself to this arrogant little glitch - much less do anything else - until he earned the privilege.

He smiled, his fangs gleaming, as he reached down to Starscream's shoulder and curled his claws around the edge of Starscream's chest plate. "We can do this the easy way, and you can open for me."

He pulled, just enough for it to hurt, and then stopped. "Or I can tear this off."

Starscream hissed and clamped his mouth shut, head falling back as Megatron's claws toyed beneath his plating. His claws had worked their way up Megatron's arm, pricking at seams in the armor there. The heat of his spark was unbearable in his chest, pulsing hungrily just beneath Megatron's hand. He arched his back and pressed his chest to that powerful grip, urging the claws deeper into wiring. Due to his status, Starscream's past lovers had always approached him with a kind of cautious reverence and touched him as if he might shatter at any moment. He always appreciated the attention, but that delicate petting was paper in the flames of Megatron's spark-deep possession. He savored the illicitness of it: this glorified mining drone clawing into the spark chamber of Vos's prince.

That thought fueled his stubbornness and he forced himself to stare directly into Megatron's blazing optics. "For _you_? As if you have any right to make such demands of _me_!"

"Any right, Starscream?" Megatron boomed, his claws clutching at the metal under his hand. "What gives you the right to refuse? Caste?"

With a great cry, he ripped the plate free, the cabling that had held it on sparking and spraying energon. The gears that had held it closed whined in ineffectual protest, and over it all came Starscream's own, keening cry.

He tossed it to the floor, a forgotten piece of worthless scrap, as he stared hungrily at the red sphere of light he had uncovered.

Compared to his own spark, Starscream's was small, a tight ball of bright heat whose light burned his optics. It wheeled crazily in front of him, tendrils crackling angrily around it, flares licking out from the impossible light at its center, reaching for him.

Starscream's vocalizer erupted in static. The agonizing pain in his chest overwhelmed his shrill, thin cry, and he flexed his claws against Megatron's arms. The armor there was cool, stable, grounding him as the storm of sensation roared through him.

But worse yet was the _exposure_. His spark casing lay tossed aside like scrap, and the core of his being lay naked and vulnerable before the gladiator's claws. He was the leader of Vos, greatest of Seekers, and now he lay torn open, his spark nothing more than a hot little prize. Oh, and it burned; its heat suffused his entire frame, not even exposure to the air enough to cool it. His cooling fans roared as his spark lurched forward hungrily. His back arched and he watched tendrils of his own energy lancing greedily toward Megatron's chest, desperate for release.

Megatron laughed, pleased. That was good. Despite Starscream's injuries, the new and the old, it remained bright. And despite what he had just done, its energies still stretched toward him, hot enough to sting his own chest plates as they finally slid open, the spark hidden behind them eager to be freed and claim its prize.

He watched the whorls of energy curl toward him, mesmerized by their dance. Then he shook his head to clear it, growling, and shoved the Seeker down onto the table.

Bending over Starscream, he narrowed his optics, concentrating as energy sped through his circuits to collect in his spark. In its place it left heat, bright and searing, and his own fans kicked on, drowning out the sound of Starscream's smaller ones.

His optics irised open again, staring hungrily at the twisted form before him as his spark pulsed hard enough to char its casing and the energy flooded free from it in a bolt of pure, relentless flame.

It poured into the Seeker, flooding the compact spark before it. Megatron could feel Starscream shaking beneath him, his whole frame juddering as the energy poured into him, overflowing, its molten heat coming back out through the small seams in his frame.

Fresh waves of agony roiled through Starscream's frame as Megatron pinned him. His ruptured wing joints streaked the table with energon, and the tender, newly-severed plating around his spark squealed protest at Megatron ground against him. Again his mouth fell open but the only sound his vocalizer produced was a high, breathy moan as he was filled so completely. More than filled: consumed. Involuntarily he clung tighter to Megatron, scoring deep scratches on the gladiator's back. He arched up, pressing their frames tighter together.

"Ahh -! You -!" he finally managed, not knowing or caring if his words were begging or insulting.

Despite the smaller mech's plea and the uncontrollable shudders wracking him, Megatron could feel Starscream's spark drawing him in, catching and holding him, its gravity so strong his chest scraped against Starscream's with a grinding squeal and a shower of sparks.

He could feel it, too - the emotions seething through his partner as they connected, a whirlpool of heat and light. Shock at his position, and rage, and an all-consuming desire for revenge... laid over desire so intense that it burned him, and a desperate wish to be filled and filled until it tore him apart. For the flood itself to break him and invade the places it had just broken, the force of it all carving new room for more.

He answered it with a new well of energy, ripped from him by the abyss of the Seeker's open spark. He had hoped to time it, to pierce Starscream anew with another thunderbolt before he could recover from the first, to see him rent and cloven and undone. But he found he could not stop the flow long enough to husband his resources for another burst.

Instead, the whirlpool pulled and pulled, curling over itself, stoking its own fires and ripping his life force from him as his vision swam with crimson light, energy blazing through his circuits as the other spark pulled it from him.

Starscream's delicate heels scraped Megatron's hips as he scrambled for purchase, greedy for more. His energon sang through its lines as Megatron's energy tore through him. Its power was intoxicating, maddening, and Starscream craved it. His tiny frame trembled with the force of it, and all the ambition and certainty and intensity fueling it.

"Megatron!" he gasped, " _More -!_ "

Megatron threw back his head, bellowing in triumph.

_More? I'll give you more, little princeling._

He twisted his body hard to one side, wrenching at the connection between them, breaking by force what he could not break by will alone.

_But only on my terms._

His spark throbbed hard at the loss. Worse still was the sudden break in the connection - the hum and seethe of emotions not his own, the twinning of his desire, all suddenly gone. The silence of being alone with himself again filled his processor, an emptiness that had never mattered until now and yet threatened to drown him.

He felt Starscream clawing at his back in blind desperation, and heard a wail echoing through his audios. He realized after a moment that it was not his own.

"Don't turn away from me, you bastard," whispered a voice, hissing and cold. It occurred to him that it was strange not to hear it echo through his mind.

He laughed again, finding his strength, his own voice filling the silence, and drove his hands down hard into the centers of Starscream's wings.

Starscream shrieked, a sound so high and loud it turned to static in his audios. He turned back to face Starscream again, his spark roiling with heat so intense he could feel it burn its housing. Lightning crackled through his systems and he opened his mouth, roaring as the energy raced free of him anew with a blast of optic-scorching light as it connected again with the crackling sphere beneath it.

He felt it splintering, cleaving, shattering for him in a shining song of pain. The hands tightened on his back and he felt them dig beneath the plating, drawing energon, pain feeding on pain, and over it all a whirlwind of need, snaking over and over itself.

Starscream cried out louder as he panted and clung to Megatron, letting himself be washed away under the relentless tide of Megatron's energy and strength and power. Starscream had fought a number of mechs in his lifetime, and fragged just as many, but even his victories weren't as all-consuming and intense and deliciously spark-rending as this violent act of surrender.

The flames of agony lancing through him took shape and he saw the future that Megatron saw - saw it as if it were his own. Megatron _made_ him see, hands pinning his wounded wings, forcing him to take whatever Megatron gave. The red of burning cities danced in his optics, Seekers painting streaks of light across the sky. His frame twitched under Megatron, hydraulics locking and releasing in long, vicious spasms, as his battered spark finally overloaded, lighting up his circuits with white-hot sensation.

Megatron felt Starscream tremble beneath him. He saw the Seeker's optics flare red, staring directly at him without seeing him, and in that impossibly bright heat and light he knew what Starscream was imagining.

_Now you understand. Now you see what I have brought to you._

_And now you belong to me._

He felt the flame himself, a ring of fire, tearing through him as it had rocketed through Starscream a moment before. For a moment, he himself was lost, torn, buffeted by spiraling flame. Then he roared, taking it in, making it a part of him, this spiral of tightly held destruction. Kaon too had had spires once, claws stretching to pierce the sky, and he would see it rise. This flame would fuel him and would course through them all as Cybertron cracked and split. His new world would rise, monstrous and invincible, from the molten places where the obsolete had split apart.

And it would happen at his will. Even this one - defiant and proud and full of the spirit he had rekindled so carefully in his own - would serve him in the end.

He threw back his head and roared, red fire pouring forth from every seam in him, a circle of blinding light bursting forth from him, the table beneath him shaking and splitting with the force of the overload ripping through his systems as his vision flared the color of molten metal.

He smiled, his systems slipping offline, as all else was consumed.

###

Starscream returned to himself slowly. Static gradually cleared from his optics and he squirmed at the dull aches in his wings and chest, inflamed by a large, heavy weight pressing down on him. Megatron's weight. Starscream shivered a little at the memory of his overload, the most intense he'd ever had. The things he'd seen, everything from Megatron's exposed spark to his unwavering vision for the future of Cybertron, lingered in his processor like a remembered dream. He would fight with Megatron, he told himself, not for him. He was no subservient grunt, not some common, mindless criminal like Megatron's other soldiers. To emphasize the point, he lifted a small foot and kicked Megatron.

"Get _off_ me, you lug. You're crushing my wings," he whined, wriggling around. There was no way he'd be able to get out from under Megatron on his own, but the friction of their plating rubbing together sent pleasant little aftershocks through his circuitry.

Megatron growled, his vision flickering, as his systems came back online. Little darts of electricity whizzed through his systems, but something damnably sharp had just impacted with one of his shins.

_Starscream._

He grabbed at the other mech's slender ankle joint, not bothering to wait for his vision to clear. "Kick me again, and I break this off," he snarled. "Is that clear?"

He heard no further response. But now that he could see again, he could tell that the other mech was pouting at him. Taking that pout as a miffed "yes," he let go of Starscream's leg. Then he sat up, his spark still crackling with the aftermath of his pleasure.

 _Their_ pleasure.

It was strange to think that way, but somehow fitting. He had merged sparks before, of course. Loyalists offered themselves to him by the score. He was their hope, their last link to a forgotten age when to be one of their kind had been a mark of pride, not shame. They loved him for that, adored him even as they saw his mouthplates twist in disgust at their fawning.

And there were a few he claimed. A few who served him because they understood, rather than because they had no strength of their own.

Still others he'd fought, sparring to prepare for matches in the arena, or for real war once the revolution had begun. And with those, usually neither he nor the other remembered how it happened, when the other had opened, or why, but the interface that happened then was just the same as the fight that had happened before it, a battle for control that only ended when Megatron won, his spark energy racing triumphant to claim what it had bested.

Oh, they'd always both enjoyed it. Megatron was cruel when he wished to be, of course, but he always felt the other's pleasure humming through his own.

But no spark had caught and held him, not like the one in this tiny, unlikely princeling had.

 _Perhaps_ , he thought, chuckling before he remembered to stop himself, _Vos survived intact all those vorns for a reason._

Starscream propped himself up on his elbows to relieve the pressure on his sore wings. He watched Megatron staring inscrutably at him, well aware of the fact that, until his spark casing was repaired, he'd be exposed and vulnerable.

From the tone of his earlier command, it was clear that Megatron was a mech accustomed to being obeyed without question in all matters. Starscream found that amusing. He smirked and scraped the sharp tip of his heel over Megatron's plating. Exposed as he was there was no sense in risking outright disobedience, but simply doing as told like a sparkling was beneath him, and Megatron would do well to learn as much.

"So now what, mighty conqueror? You have what you came for," he smirked and cocked his head at the momentarily forgotten weapon prototype. "I do so hope you enjoyed your stay in Vos."

Megatron turned his head to stare greedily at it. "I do." He chuckled. "I seem to recall you saying that thing would be too big. I don't think so."

He held out an arm. It would be heavy, mounted there, even on his broad forearm... but that was nothing he couldn't get used to.

His hand moved to Starscream's face. Taking the small mech's chin in his hand, he ran a finger lightly over Starscream's mouth plates.

Then, slowly and deliberately, his hand slid to the horn on Starscream's forehead.

"Enjoyed my stay? Oh, I have."

He ran the tips of his claws along it lightly. The Seeker shuttered his optics, hissing in obvious pleasure.

Megatron laughed softly. Perhaps the red-painted metal was particularly sensitive. Or perhaps, given that the horn was a sign of his rank, Starscream was simply pleased to see Megatron paying attention to it.

When his grip tightened, Starscream's optics widened in alarm.

Before he had a chance to react any further, Megatron gave a savage twist, breaking the bright red horn at its base.

"How dare you!" Starscream sputtered, so angry he was spitting sparks.

"Quiet." Megatron grabbed at a dislocated wing with his free hand and pulled until Starscream lapsed into shocked silence.

Then Megatron held up the horn, still touching it reverently, as though he'd reversed course and could now never imagine damaging it again.

"I will keep this," he said, a pointed grin spreading over his faceplates. "As a token of your loyalty. When you and the others come to Kaon to fight for us - when you have truly, irrevocably, pledged yourselves to my revolution - I will give it back to you, and you may wear it as you will, my little princeling."

Starscream tossed his head, hissing again.

"Only then," Megatron finished, letting go of Starscream's wing once he'd safely tucked the horn away.

###

Acid Storm approached the doors with trepidation. The revolution's leader was known for his temper - and Starscream was similarly known for his pride.

It was probably not a good match, the young Seeker reflected, green wings twitching. He'd worried about it from the moment his leader had told him that Megatron was coming to Vos, in fact.

But he certainly hadn't expected that Vos's lord would need medical attention.

He'd hoped it would go well, in fact. Megatron's Decepticons, brutish though they were, had long since conquered the Hydrax Plateau. If rumor was any kind of guide, the former gladiator had all kinds of interesting uses planned for the spaceport there, none of which boded well at all for his enemies.

And Megatron was brilliant, or so they said. Acid Storm was inclined to believe it. He'd heard the big mech's speeches. No one from the mines or the pits sounded like that. Megatron spoke almost as if he'd been built a scholar, like the scientists of Vos.

Almost.

It was clear to the trained audio receptor that Megatron was low-caste, that his skill with rhetoric was largely self-taught. He filled his speeches with stories of the bygone Age of Empires, and his cadence sounded like something from the records of the time. He'd clearly learned to speak from poring over old documents and old recorded speeches. Every once in a while, obsolete words he'd clearly picked up from one of those long-deactivated generals found their way into his oratory.

Pit fighters and factory workers and smelters wouldn't notice. The slower-witted would cheer him whether they understood or not, and the wiser would mimic him, whether they understood why he spoke that way or not.

The high-caste, Vosian or not, would mock him instead. Primus knew Lord Starscream had done so often enough.

But Acid Storm himself wasn't so sure. Yes, that cadence sounded odd to one who'd been steeped in scientific study from the time his systems came online. But if he, too, had been built strong and tough, assigned to nothing more than mining work, would he ever have learned those obsolete words at all?

Much less the carefully-hidden history of the ancient emperors who used them to prime their soldiers for war. What Megatron had made of himself was impressive; there was no way around that.

It wasn't so much that Acid Storm wanted his city to pledge allegiance to the Decepticons. That seemed a bit much. But he'd hoped for some sort of alliance, at least, with these mighty new rebels, rising from the ashes of the downtrodden.

Apparently that wasn't to be, given the nature of his lord's distress call.

Sighing and twitching his wings, he pressed a thin claw to the door lock and watched the ornate doors part to allow him into Starscream's private meeting room. He'd tried and tried to convince Starscream not to meet with Megatron alone, but -

As the doors slid fully open, Acid Storm's optics irised open in shocked disbelief.

The Prince of Vos lay sprawled on the table in a sickly, glowing puddle of his own energon. His wings were dislocated, the horn of his authority broken off, and several of his limbs were bent subtly - and not so subtly - out of true.

But it was the sight of his leader's chest that set him soaring, flying with all haste across the room to land at his lord's side. Starscream's chest plate had been torn off completely and tossed aside like worthless scrap. His spark pulsed bright and healthy red, surprisingly so given the damage, but - something like this -

"Lord Starscream?" he asked, his vocalizer vibrating with fear, lacing his voice with static. "Are you - functional?"

Starscream's head snapped up at the sound of the other mech's voice, shattering the warm, hazy reverie he'd been drifting through. Megatron had left kliks earlier, but Starscream hadn't seen fit to move. He savored the aches in his little frame, left by the gladiator's hands, marking him. And he hadn't particularly relished the thought of walking _himself_ to the medbay with his spark bare for anyone to see.

"I'm quite functional, yes," Starscream replied tersely.

Acid Storm opened his mouth, then shut it again. His next words had to be chosen carefully. Even in his damaged state, Starscream was capable of terrible wrath and violence if he felt his pride was being wounded. Acid Storm had witnessed it first hand on more than a few occasions.

"Lord Starscream -," he paused again, deciding to make himself useful, "I'll see to it that our gates are closed to any other emissaries from Kaon. Shall I send word to Iacon of this affront? I can have troops ready to deploy in -"

"What are you babbling on about?" Starscream cut him off.

Acid Storm shifted uncomfortably. Starscream was tempestuous and unpredictable, but his... lack of anger right now was downright strange. "Apologies, Lord Starscream. Given your damaged state, it appears that the negotiations with the gladiator went... not as originally planned."

The green Seeker's optics flickered as a lazy smirk spread over Starscream's faceplates.

"Mmm, there were certainly some... surprises," Starscream purred, his spark flaring in remembered pleasure. "But I handled the negotiations _expertly_ , of course. The gladiator and I... reached an understanding, you might say. Forged a bond."

Acid Storm's wings fluttered in agitation as he digested his leader's words and watched his exposed spark swell in its damaged housing. His plating heated in embarrassment, and he found himself focusing intently on the wall next to Starscream's head.

He bowed awkwardly and began gathering the discarded pieces of Starscream's spark casing and chest plating, desperate for anything else to focus on. "Oh! Oh. I see, my lord. Your skill at... negotiating... is unmatched, of course."

"Of course. Now I called you here for repairs, Acid Storm. Not to ask impolitic questions," Starscream chided, but his words lacked their usual venom.

Acid Storm only nodded and pulled his welding tools from subspace.

Starscream patted Acid Storm's shoulder condescendingly. "Don't worry. All of Vos will hear the news soon. But I will say that I foresee a long and, mm, fruitful relationship with Kaon."

Acid Storm winced, snatching up the discarded chest plates and narrowing his optics, willing himself to focus only on the task at hand as his torch flared to life. He knew from long experience that telling Starscream he didn't want to know would only earn him a long smirk and an even longer retelling.

His wings twitched. Something told him that whatever had happened here tonight wouldn't be the worst of it.

Which meant he'd be stuck doing this over and over again, unless one of Megatron's goons was a competent medic.

He vented a heavy sigh. For the sake of his own sanity, he fervently hoped so.


End file.
